


A Fine Romance

by hhertzof



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: F/M, Oxford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-23
Updated: 2010-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-14 00:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhertzof/pseuds/hhertzof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerald Wimsey wasn't preprared for Hilary Thorpe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fine Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiaiswisdom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiaiswisdom/gifts).



> Dear Jerry,
> 
> It has been over six months since you have applied to me to settle your debts last, so I thought to congratulate you on this welcome achievement, especially considering your Father's reaction when you failed your exams. I trust this is not the result of finding another fool to dun, but instead shows that you are growing up and starting to take responsibility for your own actions.
> 
> How are things at the old pile? Denver must be deadly dull at this time of year, so I imagine you're looking forward to returning to Oxford. Your last year, if I have counted correctly. Make the most of it. You will never have this time back again. Listen to me, getting all maudlin. It must be the recent slew of murders your Aunt Harriet and I have been investigating.
> 
> One last note, my ward, Hilary Thorpe, will be starting at Oxford this term. I would ask you to keep an eye on her, but I'm not sure that would be wise for either of you. Still, she'll be arriving a week Thursday and her college is Shrewsbury, should you care to look in on her.
> 
> Try not to wreck yourself in that new motor car. After what happened to the last, I'm surprised your Pater replaced it and more surprised that he's let you keep it.
> 
> Always, your affectionate Uncle,  
> Peter Wimsey

Jerry squinted at the letter, cursing his uncle's fist. Dashed hard to read. At least the enclosed cheque would come in handy, though he suspected it was in the manner of a bribe. Uncle Peter had a way of making one feel like the lowest of the low if one didn't do as he suggested. He folded the cheque and put it in his pocket. He'd go to the railway station and make Uncle Peter happy, but then he'd consider himself absolved of all responsibility towards the girl.

* * *

The train was just pulling into the station when he drove into the car park and he took his time getting out of the car, not wanting to get caught up in the overwhelming rush of people streaming from the train. Spying an elegant brunette in an immaculate frock (despite the rigours of travel) who seemed to be lost, he assumed he'd found Miss Thorpe and headed towards her. But a chattering group of young women got there before him and swept her off.

"You must be Saint-George. Your Uncle said you looked like him. He wasn't sure you'd show up. And that I might not want to get into your car if you did."

Jerry turned to look and found himself face to face with a tall redhead, dressed in a sensible tweed suit, striking rather than beautiful. He wondered idly why his Uncle chose the odd ones. "My Uncle worries too much. Are these your bags? You sent your trunk ahead, didn't you?" He hoped so. The suitcases would fit in his car, but there was no space for a trunk.

She nodded, picked up one of the two suitcases before he had a chance, and waited patiently for him to lead her to the car.

Feeling remiss, he did.

He'd heard the story, of course, though not from Uncle Peter - how he'd found an elderly woman's emeralds and then found she'd named him trustee for the heir to her fortune. He'd been expecting a polished socialite, not this brisk young woman. Jerry tried to point out places of interest to an undergraduate on the short drive to Shrewsbury College--Oxford Castle, Balliol, the Sheldonian. Remembering that Uncle Peter had said she wanted to be a writer, he also showed her Blackwell's, though he almost missed it - it was not a place he frequented often. She asked appropriate questions about the town and the University, but the conversation was stilted. He let her out at the lodge and once her suitcases were handed over to the porter, he drove off with a sigh of relief, considering his obligation to his Uncle fulfilled.

* * *

Michaelmas Term started and Jerry was quickly caught up in tutorials, lectures, and his usual social whirl and he didn't give Hilary another thought. Until she nearly fell on him in the Bodleian. Normally, he wouldn't have set foot in a library, but one of his tutors had mentioned a book that had sounded intriguing. He wasn't sure when his studies had become interesting, but the truth of the matter that being forced to resit his exams, he found himself paying more attention to his studies and less to other forms of entertainment. He supposed he was growing old.

He'd been kneeling to look at the bottom shelves, looking for the book in question, and barely glanced at the girl on the ladder, reaching for a book on the topmost shelf. He looked up to see why it was so dark when the room was well lit and saw her stretching over him for a book, just out of her reach. So he saw her overbalance before she noticed what was happening, and threw up his arms to catch her.

She was a little heavier than he'd expected, and they both tumbled on to the floor. After a moment, she righted herself, dusted and adjusted her Commoner's Gown, and held out a hand to help him up. "You tried. That's the important part," she said with a grin that made her face light up.

"Oh, it's you," Jerry said, then realising what he'd said, he tried to sound more enthusiastic, "I mean it's good to see you again. How're you finding Oxford? Did you just come from a lecture?"

"It's right outside my window every day," Hilary replied, with a glimmer of amusement in her voice. "And I did - how did you guess?" This last was said slightly sarcastically.

Jerry couldn't help snorting, which got him a few glares from the scholars at the tables. He winced. "Did you get the book you wanted?"

"I did." Hilary waved it at him. "I'd best go. I've only got an hour before my next lecture. It was good seeing you again."

"And you," Jerry said ineffectually as he watched her walk over to an empty seat. He bent down again to look for the book again, but his mind wasn't on the task at hand. Instead he was thinking about Hilary and how she reminded him a little bit of Aunt Harriet. There were worse people she could have resembled. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to seek Hilary out again.

* * *

The third time Jerry met Hilary it was deliberate, though he wasn't about to admit it. He'd seen her going into Christ Church Cathedral for the Sunday service as she had done before, so he was loitering about waiting for the service to end. "Hilary, old girl," Jerry called out, trying to pretend he was just passing through.

She stopped and stared at him for a moment, said something to the group of girls she was with, and strode with purposeful steps to meet him. "Is something wrong?"

"Nope." Jerry couldn't figure out why she'd think that. "But you shouldn't be another day here without having one of the fabulous meringues from the Christ Church kitchen."

"I've lived this long without them," Hilary teased. "Are they that good?"

"Honour bright." He led her down into the buttery and collected a few meringues along with the picnic he'd ordered earlier. "Perhaps we could go sit in the meadow and talk. I even promise to keep you out of the cow pasture."

"I'm from the country," Hilary said easily. "I can manage a few cows. To what do I owe the honour of this attention?" She asked, changing topics without any warning. "I'd got the impression you'd written me off as dull."

"Who me?" Jerry tried to look innocent but he wasn't very good at it.

"Yes, you. D'you see anyone else about?" A light rain had started to fall driving everyone indoors.

"Maybe this wasn't the best of ideas," Jerry said ruefully.

"It was a grand idea, and if the rain weren't so cold, I might stick around and enjoy it, but I don't fancy pneumonia." Hilary replied with a damp smile. Perhaps we could do this some other time?"

Jerry sighed. "I suppose. But you should take the meringues. They won't keep." He would have liked to keep one or two for himself, but he had got them for her, after all.

Hilary patted him gently on the shoulder. "The next clear day. I promise."

Passing her the meringues, Jerry resolved to keep her to that.

* * *

The next Saturday was clear and sunny- a perfect Autumn day, and Jerry lost no time in tracking Hilary down. Rather than attempt another picnic, he'd taken the precaution of making a reservation at one of the Randolph. It might be a strain on his budget, but he'd discovered that not going out every night left him with a surprising amount of pocket money, so he thought he deserved a splurge.

By the time Jerry got to the restaurant--he was late as usual--she was already seated and considering a menu. This time around, Hilary was wearing a pretty frock in a deep blue that went well with her red hair.

"You look lovely," he said, as he took his seat and gestured to the waiter to bring the wine list.

Her eyes crinkled with laughter. "I save this for special occasions. Oxford has been wonderful but a _nice_ dinner seemed a thing to celebrate."

Jerry leaned back in his chair and considered her. "Has it lived up to your expectations thus far?"

"More than I expected. I was so afraid I wouldn't be allowed to come, but your Uncle Peter refused to let my Uncle keep me in Fenchurch St. Paul," Hilary replied with a sparkle in her eyes. "Just being here, among all this knowledge and having the time to dig in has been brilliant. I want to be a writer, and there's so much I don't know yet."

This was news to Jerry. "My Uncle didn't mention that. What sort of writer? A learned scholar in an ivory tower writing eccentric monographs on the use of the word Shakespeare?" he teased.

"I'm not certain what I want to write--novels, I think, but not best sellers. And not crime either. Maybe scientific fantasies like Jules Verne and H. G. Wells. Not that I'm very good at science," she added.

"But those stories don't have _real_ science in them--just someone's ideas of what might happen," Jerry protested. He didn't know if girls could write that sort of stuff, but firmly believed that if anyone could, it would be Hilary.

"Someone once told me that you have to know what's possible to imagine the impossible. It might not be true in all cases, but I figure it's a good place to start," Hilary replied and continued to enthuse about authors like E. E. Smith and E. R. Eddison.

Watching her face shine with excitement at her future plans, he wondered how he could ever have thought her boring.

They had ordered whilst she was talking, and when their first course arrived, she fell silent. "But I'm talking too much about myself when all I know about you is that you're Peter's nephew and you like fast cars." She considered for a moment, then added, "I thought he'd written in one of his letters that you were due to leave last term. I gather you stayed to take a graduate degree."

Jerry winced. "Do I look like that much of a scholar? No, after all the money he put into my education, my Pater has this strange idea that I shouldn't leave Oxford until I pass my exams. See, I didn't last term, so I'm back to do it properly this time. He controls the purse strings, and," Jerry looked rueful, "I have rather expensive tastes. So I'm stuck here for another year. It hasn't been bad, though. Meeting you was the high point," he added, though he suspected Hilary would scorn the flattery.

Hilary stared at him as if she were sizing him up. It wasn't a comfortable feeling. "I think I approve of your Pater's position. No point in doing something if you don't do it properly." No reaction to the complement.

He winced as he pushed his empty soup bowl away, realising that it hadn't been flattery but truth. To have it shrugged off like that hurt more than he'd ever expected. But she expected him to say something. "I am this time. Honour bright." Why should he care what she thought? Was this what Uncle Peter had felt when he met Aunt Harriet?

"Good." Hilary smiled approvingly and Jerry knew he was lost.

His life might be more constrained from here on out, but he couldn't find it in himself to regret that; he might have lost his freedom but things would be a dammed sight more interesting.


End file.
